


this is what i live for

by Authors_Restraint



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Inspired by HBO teaser, Jon has it BAD for Sansa, Jonsa Reunion 2.0, Political Jon Theory, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, and ppl are really damn confused, like seriously, yes i'm jumping on the bandwagon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-04 14:38:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15843342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Authors_Restraint/pseuds/Authors_Restraint
Summary: Jon returns to Winterfell.





	1. Jon

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I'm back! This hug fucked me up and the past few days I've done nothing but reblog SO many analyses of the Jonsa reunion on Tumblr (that was a lowkey invite to come hang out @mycrazyfangirl21) and everyone I've followed had such an interesting take on this thing that I knew I HAD to write this scene.
> 
> This will be told in three parts and in three POVS : Jon, Sansa and Dany.
> 
> Enjoy!

Jon's on edge.

 

It's not like he can really help it though. From his perch atop his black mount, he can see Winterfell in the distance. The ride will take approximately one hour but to him, he  _knows_ it will feel far longer. Gods, he's missed his home so much. Weeks, more or less almost two months, trapped in the South, has made him so eager and happy to be back in the cold. He's so happy to be breathing in the wintry Northern air.

 

He feels Daenerys bring her horse closer to his as they ride towards his home. The Dragon Queen cuts an arresting figure cloaked in rich furs of white, and silks of pearl and silver. The Targaryen sigil rests across her chest in a chain of silver.

 

Jon's content to ignore her presence for the time being. Just for a little while, at least. The Queen doesn't like it when his attention strays from her for too long. It's something that annoys him to the Seven Hells and back. He's not a  _child_ for fuck's sake. He swallows his pride, however. His people's survival depends on it. He wishes he didn't have to make the choices that he did.

 

He's had no choice, though. Daenerys had seen The Night King, she'd seen The Army of The Dead - she'd lost her  _'child'_ for the Gods' sake - and yet she'd still  insisted on that bloody parlay where he'd had to degrade and prostrate himself in front of her. It's just as well, he supposes. She's in the North now, isn't she?

 

However he's had to do it isn't going to matter anymore.

 

As they ride through WinterTown, the residents rush out to meet their party. They cast wary glances at Daenerys and her companions - he'd convinced her to leave the dragons, the Dothraki and the Unsullied to set up camp not far from Winterfell's catle but had conceded when she'd all but demanded she bring some guards with her - but Jon merely gives them a reassuring smile even as he knows they have every right to be wary.

 

He's brought a dangerous woman to his home and  _fuck_ if that doesn't terrify him.

 

He glances up at Winterfell castle, the place he's grown up, the only home he's ever known. The thought crosses his mind that he won't be allowed entry; that he won't be welcome and a bone-deep terror settles within him.

 

It's only as he hears the resounding cry of 'Open the gates!' that he feels something like relief.

 

He rushes ahead through the entrance without preamble, vaguely registering Ser Davos, Daenerys and her entourage following.

 

The entire household is gathered to meet him and as they see him, a hush falls over the courtyard. Jon pays them no mind, eyes searching for his siblings. He climbs down from his steed and turns his body, eyes still searching. He barely has time to react before Arya tackles him. He lifts her in to his arms and spins her around, tears blurring his eyes. He's missed his little sister  _so much_.

 

Arya laughs and when he puts her down, he notes tears building in her eyes that she hastily wipes away. He can't resist mussing up her hair that's styled so much like his and their Lord Father's. Her large grey eyes peer up at him with so much love and adoration that Jon feels his cheeks hurt with the wide smile he gives her.

 

Maester Wolkan wheels Bran over to them and Jon's breath leaves him in a sharp gasp. His little brother is a boy no longer but a man grown. If he weren't confined to a chair, Jon reckons that Bran would be as tall as him. He kneels down and greets him, ruffling his hair and kissing his forehead. Bran doesn't react much except to give a cold, "Welcome home, Jon."

 

He looks to Arya for explanation but she just shakes her head.

 

Part of the crowd parts and then Sansa steps through. Jon feels as if he's been hit because she . . . she's just so beautiful. And yes, Jon is  _perfectly aware_ that the way he's admiring her beauty is every way a brother is  _not_ supposed to admire his sister. 

 

_At all._

 

He walks towards her slowly, uncaring of the eyes on them. Sansa's staring at him with her lips parted and then . . . and then her cheekbones arch high and she smiles at him, opening her arms. He walks right into her embrace, pulling her flush against him. His hands grip her back and waist underneath her cloak and his face presses to the side of hers. Sansa holds him just as tightly and he feels her bury her head in his furs.

 

"I've missed you," he whispers right into her ear. He can't help himself when he presses his nose into the juncture of her neck. She smells like snow, weirwood and lavender. She smells like  _home._

 

Sansa releases a shaky sigh and her fingers press into his shoulders and back beneath his cloak. She rocks him into her embrace further and tilts her head just a bit. Jon doesn't decline the invitation. He trails his nose up and down her graceful neck, sighing. He feels her shiver and she grips him tight, now rocking into him.

 

Jon tightens his arms around her waist, wanting the embrace to last for as long as it possibly can. He knows the way that he feels is more than wrong, and  _dangerous_ to add, but for just one moment, he can't bring himself to care. He'll never be able to have more than this so he's going to milk it for all that it's worth.

 

"I'm sorry," he grunts into her ear. He can't help that his voice sounds rough. She's affecting him in ways she most certainly shouldn't be.

 

"I did what I had to in order for us to survive."

 

It's reminiscent of the words she'd said to Lady Mormont the first time they'd met. 

 

"She's dangerous and impulsive but we need her. Play along, please."

 

He hears footsteps behind him, the crunching of snow and realizes that he's been holding her for far too long. Sansa nods into his cloak and Jon's so relieved that she still trusts him that he momentarily forgets himself. He presses a soft kiss to her neck, where none of their audience can see. Sansa shivers and presses a hand to his chest.

 

Jon releases her and steps back. He looks at her and she looks mildly flushed but you wouldn't know if you hadn't been looking for it. Jon notes Arya looking back and forth between him and Sansa in mild confusion.

 

There's a clearing of a throat and then the unmistakable sound of Missandei as she introduces Daenerys. Jon closes his eyes in barely concealed annoyance as the girl rattles of the woman's many titles.

 

When she's finished, Jon notes the members of his household, The Northern Lords and Ladies included not looking at all impressed. Sansa's expression is a perfect polite mask. He catches Daenerys' eyes and she's staring with a narrowed gaze at the close proximity between him and Sansa. Jon figures it's time to introduce his family lest The Queen gets any misconstrued ideas about him and Sansa. She would be right - in regards to him, anyeay - but that's beside the point.

 

"Your Grace, these are my siblings, Arya Stark," his little sister looks Daenerys up and down and moves her hand to the hilt of her sword - Needle, Jon realizes and his heart bursts with warmth that she still has it - and stands protectively next to him and Sansa, "Brandon Stark," Bran says nothing as well, just merely  _stares_ at Daenerys and Jon can tell it's making her uncomfortable, "and Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell."

 

Sansa gives a short curtsy and greets Daenerys with a soft but firm "Your Grace." Jon's not blind and so he sees the flash of annoyance in Daenerys' eyes that Sansa has not called her 'My Queen.' 

 

"Thank you for returning my brother safely to us and for your aid in this fight. Rooms for you and your retinue have been set up in the guest building. A maid will escort you there."

 

Daenerys' lips part as if she wants to say something but Tyrion cuts in. "Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Stark. We won't abuse it." Sansa's lips curl slightly but her eyes are soft as she looks at her former husband. She doesn't say anything more but to signal a maid who bows before The Queen and her retinue.

 

As Daenerys is being led away, she turns to look back at him but Jon is already being led by Sansa to the Godswood. Arya wheels Bran ahead of them and Sansa curls her arm around his and he can't help but think that her grip is tighter than usual. Then again, he  _has_ fucked up on a somewhat colossal scale. She's angry, obviously.

 

He has a  _lot_ of explaining to do.


	2. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa welcomes Jon home and analyzes the choices he's made and their current political position.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is! Sansa's POV
> 
> Major shade at Team Dragonstone. Though, that is if you consider Sansa calculating shade. Anyway, remember how I said in the tags that Jon has got it BAD for Sansa?
> 
> Well Sansa might just have it as bad for Jon.
> 
> And like, there's also a shit ton of Jon and Arya bonding because I can't help myself and these two haven't seen each other in six years.
> 
> Typing this was SUCH a bitch because the beautiful paragraphs at part of this chapter got deleted and for the life of me I couldn't remember all of it. 
> 
> But it turned really fucking AMAZING?!
> 
> I'm not one to brag but guys, I'm seriously proud of what I wrote here. Sansa's chapter probably has to be my favourite so far.
> 
> Enjoy!

When the horns blows' announces Jon's return and the cry comes to open the gates, Sansa's talking to a maid, making certain that the guest chambers are perfectly organized in preparation of housing The Dragon Queen and her retinue.

 

It's her duty after all. Whatever her thoughts are on the self-proclaimed Queen - and there are  _many_ ; not all of them pleasant - Sansa will make certain that her stay at Winterfell is comfortable.

 

The maid nods her head, taking in all the instructions being given to her and before she leaves, Sansa orders a hot bath drawn for Jon in his room and a meal that is to be had in their - it's not technically  _theirs_ ; they just use it . . . together . . . at the same time - solar. The maid, Lara is her name, gives no comment - as she damn well shouldn't; Jon's had a long journey and he's obviously going to be tired, dirty and in need of a meal and even though she's  _quite_ angry at him, she isn't cruel - and leaves to fulfill her task.

 

With that sorted out, Sansa makes her way to the courtyard where she can hear the sound of Arya's laughs. It's not like the soft, stilted chuckles her little sister has given since she's returned to Winterfell. It's a full-on belly laugh that can only be the sound of true happiness. It seems that Jon and Arya have found each other then.

 

Honestly, with how antsy Arya's been the last few days - ever since they'd received the raven from White Harbor announcing Jon's return to The North - Sansa had half-expected Arya to ride out at least a day or two before to meet him. They've always had that bond that was special to the two of them.

 

Where Jon was, Arya had been sure to be. Now that they're back together, Sansa reckons that she'll be seeing much less of Jon. Especially with him organizing the defense of the realm. The thought makes her sad.

 

_Pull yourself together woman._

 

It's not like she  _needs_ his presence all that much anyway. She's a grown woman who can take care of herself but it's  _nice_ when he's around. His presence is calming and he makes her feel  _safe_. When Jon's around, Sansa has someone whom she can talk to about any and everything. She can talk to Arya but she and her sister are still trying to understand one another and there are just some things that are easier with Jon.

 

One thing that she and Arya have in common, then. It's much easier for them to talk to Jon than it is for them to talk to each other.

 

The crowd parts for her as she arrives into the courtyard and before she turns her eyes to her siblings, she looks at the strangers who've arrived at her home.

 

Daenerys' party - for it can be no one else's but hers - is large but Sansa sees no sign of The Dragon Queen's famed Dothraki horde, nor legion of Unsullied. She doesn't even hear the screech of The Queen's dragons. She can't help but feel apprehensive. If they aren't here, that must mean that they've set up camp somewhere nearby. Near the smallfolk.

 

 _Oh Jon, you bloody_ fool.

 

He's not, really. Having the armies set up camp outside of Winterfell is actually wise because Sansa is absolutely certain that Winterfell's grain stores isn't enough to feed 100,000 men known for being more savage than wildlings and 8,000 Unsullied besides.

 

The reason she calls Jon a fool is because who is to keep an eye on Daenerys' army and make sure that they don't hurt their people? Not to mention her dragons. The Queen is the only one who can control them and she obviously intends to stay at Winterfell and Sansa must let her - to do anything less would a most grievous insult; one that would make her Lady Mother roll over in her grave - but the thought won't stop ruminating in her head.

 

Is she supposed be calm knowing that those beasts are roaming free without control or supervision?

 

She spots Varys, an old blonde man who has the look of a Northman in him, a dark haired girl - who is  _quite_ beautiful; Sansa would  _love_ for curls such as those but but she would have  _no_ idea how to maintain them - dressed in shades of black and navy blue, a man dressed in black leather who must be Unsullied, a few Dothraki guards bundled up in furs and standing at the helm of them, The Dragon Queen cloaked from head to toe in white.

 

Sansa doesn't get to look further at the woman who's caused her brother to relinquish all forms of common sense because at that precise moment, Jon's eyes meet hers and  _Gods._

 

_The look in them . . ._

 

He's already walking towards her but he stops for a moment, reminiscent of the way he'd stopped the first time they'd reunited, and just  _stares_ at her. He looks well. Tired, but well.

 

His beard has grown thicker and his hair has grown longer but he's no less handsome to her than he's ever been. His eyes are smiling, conveying all his relief and happiness to be home and there's an intensity in those grey eyes of his that surprises her because she honestly wasn't expecting it to be directed at her.

 

If anything, she'd expected him to look at Arya like that. She's his favourite, after all. 

 

She's not complaining, however. She's missed him terribly. And with that, she smiles at him, feeling a lightness in her chest at the fact that he's  _home_. She can't help it when she opens her arms toward him.

 

She should be angry - and she  _is_ ; just not as much to be cold - but she's just so fucking glad he's home and safe.

 

Jon doesn't waste time and walks right into her embrace, pulling her tight against him as if he's been longing to do so for the past two moons. And even if that were so, it's obvious that he just missed his sister. Family's very important to him, after all.

 

_Keep telling yourself that._

 

 He grips her back and waist and Sansa's arms go around his shoulders and back underneath his cloak. Jon presses his face to the side of hers and she buries her head in his furs.

 

"I've missed you," his breath puffs against her ear, nose pressing into the side of her neck.

 

He smells like seawater, smoke and leather; his arms have grown bigger with muscle - not that she's  _looking_ ; she doesn't  _care_ \- accentuating his physique which Sansa has always secretly thought exquisite.

 

 _Seven Hells_.

 

She can't help but wonder what it is that he's doing. They're in  _public_ for the Gods' sake. Not that she isn't  _enjoying_ his attentions - and there really must be something depraved within her for she feels a small modicum of righteous indignation that his precious Dragon Queen is being paid witness to such a display from Jon; it isn't at all proper but Sansa figures propriety can go fuck itself because she's missed him terribly and if this is all she's going to get, she's going to milk it for all that it's worth.

 

With that, she tilts her head to the side, inviting his attentions further. He trails his nose up and down her neck, sighing against her skin, beard rasping her.

 

She can't help the sudden thought of those coarse hairs rasping her  _elsewhere_. Her knees feel suddenly weak and she can't help the shaky sigh that escapes her. She grips him tighter, now rocking into him.

 

"I'm sorry," his voice sounds rougher than usual.

 

"I did what I had to do in order for us to survive."

 

 _Giving up our home was in order for us to survive?_ Sansa thinks bitterly. She knows that that isn't particularly fair. They've been in a position like this before. At least, she has.

 

"She's dangerous and impulsive but we need her. Play along, please."

 

Sansa lifts her eyes to meet the Dragon Queen's narrowed violet gaze. She can't help the iciness that flows from her own eyes. Her brother, her stupidly heroic brother, would sooner swallow his pride and kneel, risking the hatred and anger of his bannermen, just so that they could live to hate him.

 

And it's all this woman's fault.

 

Instead of returning Jon home when she should have, she'd dragged him down to that stupid armistice - which Sansa  _knew_ was a trap; Cersei's word doesn't mean  _shit_ \- and prior to that, sent him off on that stupid wight hunt - where he could have died, where he could have been taken from her- _them_ forever - all because of the stupid Iron Throne.

 

Sansa's  _angry_.

 

She pulls Jon into her arms tighter, her hackles raised. This  _woman_ , this so-called Queen of The Seven Kingdoms would sooner bring a country to heel than save it from destruction and yet, she demands she rule them. What kind of Queen does that?

 

And how does that make her better than Cersei?

 

Sansa nods into Jon's furs and shivers at his answering kiss at her neck. She knows that it's simply the heat of the moment and that his emotions are all over the place but she can't help but feel the need to have him do it again.

 

She's obviously suffering from a lack of sleep. And a lack of sun. There is absolutely  _nothing_ normal about a sister wanting her brother to kiss her neck.

 

_And possibly elsewhere . . ._

 

Sansa forcefully pushes that thought away and presses a hand to his chest. He releases and steps back. Sansa feels flushed but she hopes that she doesn't  _look_ flushed. She notes Tyrion standing at his queen's side, looking back and forth between her and Jon, mismatched eyes skeptical. Varys smiles at her politely when he catches her stare. Sansa doesn't smile back. For the time being, he's no friend of hers.

 

 The Dragon Queen clears her throat. The dark skinned girl standing behind her steps forward and begins, loud enough for the Lords and Ladies - high and lesser alike, though there are few of them; they will arrive at Winterfell tomorrow - 

 

"You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Rightful Heir to The Iron Throne - "

 

Sansa flits her eyes to Jon whose eyes are closed in annoyance.

 

"Rightful Queen of The Andals and The First Men, Protector of The Seven Kingdoms, The Mother of Dragons, The Khaleesi of The Great Grass Sea, The Unburnt, The Breaker of Chains."

 

The courtyard is silent and Sansa notices Alys Karstark frowning. She honestly doesn't understand what that little spectacle is supposed to do. Are they supposed to fall prostrate at Daenerys' feet and worship her as if she's a goddess? All the Queen has done is merely show her arrogance.

 

And isn't it a bit ironic that one of her titles is 'Breaker of Chains' yet isn't The North under subjugation from her now?

 

The Northern Lords are  _not_ impressed and Sansa gives the Queen credit at not looking disappointed. Actually, she looks to Jon pointedly and something unspoken passes between the two of them. Sansa feels her blood run cold at what she realizes. 

 

Jon's lain with her.

 

She doesn't understand why that bothers her so much given Jon's confession that he's doing what is necessary to ensure their survival. It's just that her brother has to resort to whoring himself out to this Queen just so that she can stay invested. Sansa's seen this play before. Last time it starred herself and one Petyr Baelish.

 

She doesn't want that ugliness, that feeling of disgust she'd felt to consume Jon. Her brother does not love this woman but it is quite obvious from the ill-concealed dreamy eyes Daenerys is giving him, she loves  _him_. 

 

And for that, Sansa can't help but feel a great swell of pity and  _envy_. Daenerys loves him, is  _free_ to love him - she doesn't  _care_ about that; she  _doesn't_ \- but Jon is manipulating her and Sansa is going to help him use this woman. There is absolutely  _everything_ wrong with that but they've no choice. She's brought this on herself. If she hadn't demanded the subjugation of the North, Jon never would have had to resort to such drastic measures.

 

Mayhaps if she'd proven herself trustworthy, maybe Jon could have come to love her for true. A marriage alliance between Jon and Daenerys would truly make them unstoppable. It can't be that way now, however. Sansa ignores the little voice in the back of her head that's telling her she's happy about that. 

 

Jon grimaces and Sansa watches as her brother adopts a meek, almost sheepish expression - which absolutely  _annoys_ her; not to mention  _disturbs_ her - towards the Queen.

 

"You Grace, these are my siblings, Arya Stark-"

 

Daenerys smiles brightly at Arya and  _oh_ , Petyr was right. The Dragon Queen is  _quite_ beautiful. Especially when she smiles. Arya looks the Queen up and down, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword. Sansa watches as Daenerys' smile thins.

 

"Brandon Stark-"

 

Bran says nothing. He just  _stares_ at her, and Sansa wonders what of the Queen's past and present he's seeing. She wonders if he's seen her and J-no. She forcefully pushes images of silver hair strewn across a pillow, a dimly lit room, lips parted in gasps and moans, Jon's powerful body as he -

 

Her hands clench into fists and she fights to keep her polite facade up and her breathing under control. Every instinct of hers wants to rake her claws across this woman's flawless face solely for the fact that she's touched Jon. In a way that Sansa never has. 

 

In a way that Sansa never will.

 

"And Sansa Stark, Lady of WInterfell."

 

Sansa remembers her manners and curtsies; not too deeply however. Daenerys is not her queen. "Your Grace."

 

She's blind and thus sees the flash of annoyance in the other woman's eyes. Perhaps she'd been expecting them all to kneel.

 

"Thank you for returning my brother safely to us and for your aid in this fight. Rooms for you and your retinue have been set up in the guest building. A maid will escort you there."

 

She wonders if anyone else hears the slight emphasis she puts on the 'my' and the 'us'. 

 

The Queen opens her mouth to say something - Sansa can't imagine what - but Tyrion interjects before she can. "Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Stark. We won't abuse it."

 

Sansa says nothing but she softens her expression somewhat. She's missed her former husband, she finds. Not in the way a woman would miss her husband, but in the way a fellow prisoner might miss their cellmate.

 

She sees Lara by the wooden steps and the maid bows her head in acknowledgement. So her tasks have been completed then. She beckons her forward and introduces her to Daenerys' party.

 

Sansa doesn't wait long. She tells Arya to wheel Bran to the Godswood and she curls her arm around Jon's. When she sees Daenerys turn back to look at him, something cold and dark settles within her. Something that makes her clench her fingers around her brother's forearm.

 

The Queen can say whatever it is that she has to say to Jon later tonight. Sansa is  _certain_ that Daenerys will be sharing Jon's chambers - if only for the fact that Jon must keep up pretenses. It's . . . She knows  _why_ \- at least she's  _certain_ she knows why - but it's infuriating. And not to mention somewhat disrespectful. This is their home.

 

_Theirs._

 

The thought of Jon fucking the Dragon Queen here . . . it  _disgusts_ her. 

 

And she knows perfectly why.

 

* * *

 

 

As soon as they arrive at The Heart Tree, Arya leaves Bran's side and jumps into Jon's arms. He laughs and balances her on his hip as if she's a babe and not a woman grown of seven and ten. The sight makes Sansa feel warm, but slightly sad. She'll never be able to be so forward with him the way Arya is.

 

They all take to the floor, Sansa with her knees pulled to her chest, Jon with one knee up and the other leg stretched forward and Arya curled up on his lap, unwilling to let go. Her arms are around his neck and her head is pressed to his shoulder.

 

The look of absolute adoration that she gives Jon is one that Sansa will remember for very long. She's glad to see this side of her sister again. Arya's become somewhat of a stranger to her, colder and less prone to smiles. Sansa understands that after all that they've been through but it doesn't mean that she doesn't miss the days when her sister had a smile as big as the sun.

 

"So," Jon begins, rather inelegantly.

 

"You should start from the beginning," Sansa offers.

 

"Did you really bend the knee?" Arya asks. Jon tilts his head back to look at her and frowns sadly. "Yes."

 

The change is instant. Their little sister scowls and scrambles to move off his lap. Jon tightens his arms around her. "Arya! Wait, listen to me!"

 

"You gave away our home!"

 

Sansa imagines that for Arya, this must feel like even more of a betrayal. Their sister had returned to Winterfell expecting to see Jon and had found Sansa instead. And now that her beloved brother is back, Jon's gone and done something she's deemed unforgivable.

 

Arya's always idolized him, after all.

 

_She's always loved Jon. Far more than she ever loved me._

 

Jon cups Arya's face and makes her look at him. Sansa notes that even though her little sister looks angry, she's stopped fighting him.

 

"I bent the knee because we need her armies, and her dragons, and her dragonglass to defeat the Night King. I bent the knee because I spent two months trapped on her island and I saw just how destructive her temper is. I bent the knee because even after she saw The Night King and The Army of The Dead, she still put me on a ship headed South when I was unconscious and couldn't do anything for myself. She still insisted on that armistice. I bent the knee, Arya, because I love you.  _All_ of you and my family's the most important thing in the world to me and I have to protect you. If I have to have you hate me for it, so be it. At least you'll be alive to hate me."

 

Sansa fiddles her hands together nervously and her heart races beneath her breast. She can't help but feel that at the last bit, Jon wasn't talking to Arya. 

 

 _And so what if he loves you? You're his sister._ Of course _he loves you._

 

"Do you understand?"

 

Arya purses her lips. "I don't need you to protect me anymore, Jon. I'm not a little girl."

 

Jon smiles softly. "I know that. But you're always going to be my little sister. You understand what I've told you, don't you?"

 

She sighs then. "Yeah. Yeah, I understand. I don't hate you. I could never hate you, big brother." 

 

Jon's hands drop from Arya's face and she curls up into his arms, looking for all intents and purposes a small child.

 

Sansa hates to have to be the one to spoil the soft mood but this question won't leave her. She needs to know. She needs to know that Jon has a plan moving forward.

 

"And after The Night King is defeated, and say Daenerys survives. What do we do then?"

 

To her surprise, Jon chuckles. Sansa frowns. That's not funny and she doesn't know whether he's laughing  _at_ her or  _with_ her. Which is strange in and of itself because _she's not laughing_.

 

"What? What's so funny?"

 

"I pledged  _myself_ to Daenerys. Not the North, not anyone else.  _Myself._   _She_ thinks I've pledged the North. But I haven't. If we all survive afterward, I'll  suppose I'll fulfill my promise to her."

 

There's that word again.  _Promise._

 

When it comes to the world of Westerosi politics, the word promise doesn't mean shit. The fact that Jon uses that specific word in regards to his complicated relationship with the Dragon Queen bothers Sansa.

 

"Jon," his eyes lift to hers and Sansa has to calm her racing heartbeat at the openness of those pools of grey -  _breathe, you stupid girl. He's your brother, not some pretty knight in gleaming gold armor._

 

(But he  _is_ pretty-

 

 _Shut up_.)

 

"Did you actually  _swear_ an oath to Daenerys? Were there witnesses?"

 

Her brother raises an eyebrow and there's something of a tired smirk on his lips - 

 

( _pretty_ -

 

SHUT UP!)

 

"What d'you think?"

 

Never would have Sansa thought she'd see the day when her brother, her heroic,  _honorable_ brother, the one everyone says looks and acts like Father - and Father  _hated_ politics; never had a care for them - would become so . . .  _sly._  

 

He's fooled everyone by making them believe he's stupid. No one would take a look at him and think that he'd act anything less than that of a Northern fool. Too good to lie. Too good to be manipulating the most beautiful and powerful woman in the world in order to  _save_ the world. 

 

Sansa can't help the admiration that she feels. He's  _learnt_. By the Gods, he's  _learnt!_ He's  _listened_ to her for once. She could kiss him if she thought she'd be able to get away with it.

 

"But what about us? If you leave, what will happen to us? To the North?"

 

Jon's eyes doesn't leave Sansa's even as he answers Arya's question. "I'm leaving 'em both in good hands."

 

Sansa's eyes widen and she automatically shakes her head. "No. No, you can't."

 

"Sansa-"

 

" _No_ , Jon. You won't make me Queen. I don't want it. I  _don't_. I'm fine with what I have. I have our home, our family. I don't need anything else."

 

_Liar._

 

"Sansa, you're the best chance we have. Who else is going to lead the North if not you?"

 

" _You_. They named  _you_ King.  _Not_ me. I won't take that from you, Jon. You're a good king."

 

"I gave it up. And they can just as well name  _you_ Queen. I'm a good king, but you, Sansa, will be a  _great_ Queen."

 

Her eyes widen again and she flits her eyes to Arya who's looking back and forth between her and Jon, seemingly confused.

 

"You sound like Mother and Father."

 

Something about the accusatory tone in Arya's voice makes her blush and look down. "Perhaps we should talk about this later. "

 

Jon clears his throat and looks away. "Yes, that would be best."

 

Sansa looks to Bran whose eyes aren't even on them but afar off. She looks back at Jon and he too stares at their brother, confused at his strange behaviour. Ever since they've arrived at the Godswood, Bran hasn't said a word.

 

"Bran?"

 

He doesn't respond to Jon until a few moments later. "Daenerys lost a dragon."

 

Jon narrows his eyes and leans forward, as much as possible with Arya still wrapped around him. "What? How do you know that?"

 

"Bran has visions now. Of everything that's ever happened and everything that's happening now."

 

Jon looks deeply bothered and disturbed about this. "So you know about-"

 

"That you slept with her? Yes."

 

Arya's head snaps up. "What? Slept with who?"

 

"Daenerys Targaryen." Sansa is quite proud at the fact that she doesn't spit the woman's name. She feels Jon's eyes on her and meets them like every bit of the fool that she is. He's looking to see if she judges him. She doesn't. It's none of her business who he fucks. He's a grown man and he's doing what he has to do to ensure their survival. She'd feel the same if it were Robb.

 

_LIAR_

 

"The Night King has him now."

 

Jon closes his eyes and curses below his breath. A muscle ticks in his jaw and suddenly he looks so incredibly  _tired_. Arya frowns at him and rubs a hand across his shoulder in comfort. 

 

Their eldest brother takes a deep breath then lets it out. "How much time do we have Bran?"

 

"I don't know. I can't be certain if this is happening now, or if it's already happened."

 

"If it's happening now then it's already happened," Jon snaps. 

 

"Jon, you've just returned. Take a breath. You're going to be fine. We'll take care of it." Sansa doesn't know where those empty, soothing words come from - and they  _are_ empty; she knows it and  _Jon_ knows it; things are so out of their control - but it does the job. Jon closes his eyes again and takes her hand. His thumb traces her palm up to her wrist where he can no doubt feel her pulse racing liking a horse. He doesn't let go but continues to trace circles and circles around that spot without a care in the world that she's on the verge of collapsing from lack of oxygen.

 

_Gods, this man._

 

* * *

 

 

They disperse afterwards. Bran remains in the Godswood and hell if Sansa knows where Arya's gone off to. She keeps a hold of Jon's arm as they head to his chamber. If anyone thinks their physical contact strange, they say nothing of it.

 

Jon opens the door to his room and as soon as she's inside, he slams the door shut and she's in his arms again. He picks her up and spins her around, all the while mouthing her name into her neck.

 

A noise, something like a gasp and a whimper escapes her at his tight hold and the fact that she's pressed up  _right_ against him. They've never been so close together before. 

 

"Gods, I've  _missed_ you," he groans. 

 

She gasps again even as she wants to repeat the words. She wants to tell him that she's missed him too, that the past two months have been so  _lonely_ without him, that his quiet presence, strength and wisdom used to be some of the only things that kept her going. The time they've been at Winterfell alone, they've been living for each other. Fighting to keep each other alive.

 

It's been them against the world.

 

Things are different now.

 

"They don't have to be," Jon murmurs and then does Sansa realize that she's spoken the words aloud. He sets her down on her feet and runs his hands down her neck, shoulders, arms to firmly settle at her waist. He pulls her tight against him and presses his forehead to hers.

 

"Nothing's changed between us. You're still my- You're still  _Sansa_."

 

"I don't know what that means," she says to him softly. 

 

"It means I still won't  _ever_ let any harm come to you. I'll still protect you, whether you like it or not."

 

"And Daenerys?"

 

"Daenerys is not you. She's not my family. I'll protect you. Even from her."

 

She shouldn't be encouraging this. No one can protect anyone. She shouldn't be letting Jon's pretty, earnest words affect her the way they are affecting her now. She shouldn't. But she wants to believe him.  _Gods_ , does she want to believe him.

 

"Why?"

 

"Why what, love?"

 

To her credit, she doesn't swoon at the endearment. But she almost does.  _Fuck_ , Jon's got a nice voice. All deep and rough and  _raw_.

 

"Why me? Why is it so important to you that  _I'm_ safe?"

 

Jon steps closer and his thumbs rub circles into her hips. Seven Hells, is the man trying to drive her insane? He leans closer, so close that their noses are brushing and just  _stays_ there. Sansa can feel his cold breath puff against her lips and can feel his heart slamming inside his chest from where chest is pressed to his.

 

But he does nothing.

 

"Jon?" she whimpers softly.

 

"Fuck it," he growls.

 

And then his mouth is on hers.

 

At first Sansa doesn't know how to react. The only thought - the only  _coherent_ thought - that she has at this precise moment is that Jon is  _kisssing_ her. He's  _kissing_ her.

 

The thought makes her gasp and and clutch the leather straps of his cloak, pulling him closer. One of his hands move up, up, up - past her waist, her ribcage, the underside of her breasts, her shoulders - to grip the back of her neck. His hand tilts her head, thumb pressing down at the base of her throat. The primal, possessive grip makes her whimper into his mouth.

 

It's not so much kissing as it is their mouths gasping into the other's, as if to breathe the other back into life. Sansa's blood hums within her veins and her knees feel incredibly weak.

 

Jon sucks her bottom lip into his mouth, his teeth tugging and pulling at the plump piece of flesh. Sansa doesn't know what the hell to do, nor does she care. Just this once, she's perfectly fine with not being in control. And  _of course_ she'd feel this way with Jon.

 

Jon.

 

Her  _brother_.

 

As soon as she realizes that she's kissing her brother - as soon as she realizes that she doesn't  _care_ that she's kissing her brother - Jon pulls away.

 

_No! Come back!_

 

He doesn't let go of her. His forehead rests against hers, and he's panting. His full lips are a sinfully pinkish red, and they're wet. The hand that's on the back of her neck moves to her face and he brushes away a stray lock of red hair from her eyes.

 

"That's why."

 

Oh.  _Oh_.

 

Sansa wants to do a lot of things in that moment. She  _should_ do a lot of things in that moment but her traitorous heart betrays her. She shouldn't be rejoicing at the fact that Jon's more or less confessed to loving her in every way a brother  _shouldn't_ love his sister.

 

He stares at her silently, waiting perhaps for some sort of reaction from her. Sansa can't help it then when a smile stretches across her lips. The hopeful look on Jon's face makes him look so incredibly  _young_ to her then.

 

"Oh," she says simply.

 

"Oh?"

 

"I'm not certain that I fully understand. Perhaps you can demonstrate again?"

 

Jon chuckles then and licks his lips.

 

_I could have done that._

 

"As you wish, my lady."

 

This kiss is a lot more passionate and a lot more frantic. Sansa's hands are tangled in Jon's curls - which are a  _lot_ slicker than usual; Gods, he needs a bath - and he's pulling her tight against him as if he never wants to be parted from her again.

 

_Never again. They'll have to kill me to take me away from him._

 

Sansa is surprised at how true the statement is. Oh, how problematic their feelings are for each other now. If there had been no war, no Daenerys Targaryen, no scenario where Jon had to give up his crown . . .

 

He walks backwards and falls onto the edge of his bed. Sansa tumbles into his lap but Jon's quick and he secures her carefully. His lips part from hers to brush at her cheeks, her jaw, her ear, starting a trek downward.

 

"Do you want me to stop?"

 

"Never," she breathes. She never wants him to stop and she doesn't want him to touch Daenerys Targaryen ever again. The thought comes to her suddenly that Jon must have had Daenerys just like this. He must have had her on his lap and must have done the same things to her that he's doing to her now. 

 

He must have done things that Daenerys probably expects him to do again. She doesn't want him to.

 

But if he doesn't . . .

 

 _No._. She doesn't  _care_ about that. Let him find another way to persuade the Queen. This is  _their_ home and Jon . . .

 

Jon is  _hers_.

 

"Don't you  _d-dare_ , " she gasps as his teeth scrapes her neck, " _touch_ her again."

 

"I won't," Jon answers quickly. "I swear it to you. I won't."

 

" _Good._ Because if you do -"

 

Jon cups her face and shuts her up with a kiss. His tongue tangles with hers and Sansa's so caught up in the moment that she wriggles on his lap.

 

"I'm yours, Sansa," he pants against her lips. "Yours and you're mine."

 

She blinks at him, completely dazed. Seven Hells, she's so utterly besotted with this man that it scares her. There's so many threats bearing down on them - the South, the far North, the intruders in their very home - but Sansa finds that she isn't afraid. She has Jon, she  _really_ has Jon - never mind that what they're doing now will have serious repurcussions in the future - she has Arya and she has Bran.

 

She's in her home and she's strongest within the walls of Winterfell. Daenerys Targaryen  _can't_ frighten her. Not even if she has two dragons. Wolves had no time for dragons.

 

"Yours, and you're  _mine_ ," she repeats.

 

Whatever they have to do moving forward, they'll do it together. She, Jon, Arya and BRan.

 

Because after all, when the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies . . .

 

**_. . . but the pack survives._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come hang out @mycrazyfangirl21

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out on tumblr @mycrazyfangirl21


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